


Witness

by Thesseli



Series: The Ebon Lion [9]
Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blending of movie and game lore, Canon Blending, Death Knight Lothar, Gen, Koltarian, LionTrust, Necromancy, Stoutheart Keep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 06:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18987181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesseli/pseuds/Thesseli
Summary: "It's different when it's someone you know."





	Witness

Given the connection between the leader of the Four Horsemen and the king of Stormwind, it was only a matter of time before Anduin Wrynn was invited to witness a Resurrection. 

The Ebon Blade had been extending these invitations since soon after the Deathlord was appointed. The order wanted the rest of Azeroth to know they had nothing to hide, that no-one was being raised without their consent – that every potential candidate was contacted first, via their spirit-speakers, with current affairs explained and any questions they might have had answered. (Sometimes this necessitated a translator, as it had for Kimari Lightpaw; but after resurrection all the new death knights were able to understand Common – an unexpected legacy of Arthas Menethil’s stint as Lich King.) If after all this the candidate agreed, then and only then would a resurrection take place. The Ebon Blade was neither Scourge nor Forsaken, and would not raise anyone against their will. 

Anduin Lothar was proud of his nephew’s son for accepting their invitation. He knew the young priest held no ill will against the undead, but being surrounded by so many of them was probably still a bit unsettling to anyone who worked with the Light. Lothar knew Genn Greymane wasn’t happy the king would be leaving Stormwind for this…but in truth, there were very few candidates left in the city who hadn’t already been raised. The sacking of Stormwind by the original Horde had left few graves undesecrated; and, while the populace had re-interred what they could after they’d retaken the city, most of the remains had been so disrupted that not even the most skilled shaman could establish a connection to their spirits. 

It was a pity. Lothar would have given anything to see Taria and Llane again, even if only as shades and even if they refused the gift of return. 

No, their delegation’s journey today hadn’t been to Stormwind, but rather to the Broken Shore. Where Varian had fallen, but this was not to speak to Varian’s spirit…the king’s body had never been recovered. (And after all this time, it was unlikely it ever would be.) Instead, the Ebon Blade would be extending their offer of resurrection to a dwarven shaman, one who’d started out as a warrior during the First War, but who’d become just as dedicated to peace between the Alliance and Horde as Anduin Wrynn. Hence, why the young king had been offered this particular invitation, and why he’d eagerly accepted the chance to act as a witness. 

At the moment, the Deathlord was going over the basics of the process with King Anduin, from the initial divination and spirit contact to the actual resurrection itself. Lothar listened from a distance, trying not to make it too obvious that he was eavesdropping on the leader of his order and the young priest who referred to him as ‘uncle’. 

“The king looks very relaxed, given that he’s surrounded by the undead,” mused Lothar, once it became clear to him that his colleagues knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Yeah, but Arrelon sure doesn’t,” Terrix pointed out. “She looks almost jumpy. Is she that impressed by royalty? I never would have thought it of her.” 

Thassarian shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s more likely because of who we’re here to resurrect,” he said. “It’s different when it’s someone you know.” 

“Oh?” Lothar raised an eyebrow. “She knows our next candidate personally?” 

The younger man nodded. “Lord Brendon Stoutheart. Founder of the first sanctuary city in the Eastern Kingdoms outside of Booty Bay. A few years back, Arrelon and a few other blood elves were some of the first non-Alliance citizens to take up residence there.” 

“The Deathlord is over two centuries old. She was around for the first war and the formation of the Alliance,” Koltira said blandly. “So she was used to working with humans and dwarves and such, even when she was still a high elf rogue. That’s why she never harbored the prejudice that some of the younger members of the Horde feel towards the Alliance races.” 

“Being part of the Ebon Blade also goes a long way towards breaking down prejudices,” added Thassarian, glancing at Koltira with a hint of a smile. “But I can certainly understand why she’s nervous. Brendon Stoutheart was a friend of hers. What if he says No? More importantly, what if he says Yes? This is important to her, no matter what happens today.” 

“It’s starting,” Terrix whispered solemnly. With that, the assembled death knights all turned their attention to the ritual’s centerpoint. 

The draenei shaman was kneeling, chanting as the incense smoke swirled around him, his eyes half closed as he entered into the summoning trance. Arrelon stood nearby, surrounded by the smoke as well. The air within the ritual space had taken on an altered appearance, wavering before the eyes of the observers like a mirage on a hot summer day. 

Before the elf an image began to appear, ghostly at first, then forming itself into the recognizable form of a male dwarf. 

“Hello, my friend,” she said warmly. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

“Lass?” he asked, looking around in confusion. Lothar knew from experience that what was visible within the ritual space was limited at best. “You called tae me.” He frowned, as if becoming more aware of his situation. “I’m dead, aren’t I.” 

The Deathlord inclined her head slightly. “You are. But…you don’t have to be.” She clasped her hands in front of her before responding to the question in his eyes. “The Burning Legion is strong. But we have a way to be strong too,” she said, followed by the briefest of pauses before she spoke again. “The Ebon Blade has amended one of its longstanding rules. We’ve been raising other death knights…but *not* without their permission,” she declared. “Our situation right now is desperate, Brendon. Azeroth is losing too many people, while the demons re-form in the Twisting Nether and then come back to fight again. We need all the help we can get…but we’ll only take it willingly. We would never raise someone against their will. We have shamans who can create ritual spaces like this so we can speak to the dead, and offer them the chance to come back. But the choice is ultimately yours. And whatever you decide, we will respect it.” 

The dwarf gazed up into her eyes, clearly conflicted. “I’ve known ye long enough tae understand what a death knight can do, and what they have tae do. If it were only me this decision would affect, I know what my answer would be. But I have tae consider Haley. She’s a paladin...how will she react if I do come back?” His expression was pained. “I couldn’t take it if my own daughter couldn’t bear tae look at me anymore.” 

“Don’t worry, Brendon, we’ve already spoken with Haley. She couldn’t be here today, but she says she’ll support your decision no matter what you choose,” she assured him. “And as you well know, she won’t be the first Light-worker to have death knights as friends or family. At the Keep, or outside of it.” 

The dwarf looked surprised. “You mean Dyonei and Baranis? The two of ‘em are still together?” he asked. 

“Still together, and still at the Keep, on the executive council that were your advisers while you still lived,” Arrelon replied. “You did something incredible there, you know. You turned a minor trading post into a good-sized settlement, and then into a sanctuary. You welcomed my friends and I into your home when you had no reason to trust us, other than the word of a human stranger – a death knight – and the Keep’s former blood elf prisoner.” 

“The former blood elf prisoner that one o’ my closest friends was fool enough tae fall in love with,” the dwarf grumbled fondly, no sting to his words. “I still don’t understand what the Ebon Blade would see in me, though. I’m just a shaman.” 

“Brendon, you are not ‘just’ anything,” she declared. “You created something unique on Azeroth – a place where Alliance and Horde and the non-aligned could come together peacefully, one that wasn’t run by pirates or a crime syndicate, but by the rule of law. A place where people were free to be with whoever they wanted, whether they were different factions or races or in other relationships that were frowned upon in their homelands,” she said. “When we and the other Horde citizens made our home in Stoutheart Keep in those months before Garrosh Hellscream’s trial, we became part of a greater community. And when we traveled together to Pandaria to view that trial, we did it as a community too. Those of us from the Keep sat together: Alliance, Horde, and non-aligned. You did in a few years what took Shattrath City decades to achieve. You should be proud,” she said. “So no, you are not ‘just’ a shaman. You are much, much more than that.” 

Brendon stroked his beard. “If I do come back, I won’t be a shaman anymore.” 

“No, you won’t,” she said, a trace of regret in her voice. “But your legacy as one will live on. You were one of the first dwarves to study shamanism, and one of the first people on Azeroth to teach the discipline to a draenei. Your former apprentice is now a grandmaster of the art.” 

The dwarf’s eyes widened. “Maliden?” he asked hopefully. “Is he still alive?” 

Arrelon looked around the ritual’s center and cocked her head. “Who do you think is holding this space for us?” 

Brendon broke into a broad grin. “Aye, that is good news,” the dwarf replied, clearly relieved by what he’d been told. “I just have one more question before I give you my answer.” He arched an eyebrow. “Is Magda still alive?” 

“Your ex-wife?” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Yes, yes she is. Is that important?” 

Brendon’s smile grew even wider. “Well now, that means I absolutely have tae come back,” he declared happily. “Even if it’s just tae spite her!” 

Arrelon blinked. Then she laughed. “All right,” she replied, raising her runeblades and taking a deep breath, letting the necromantic power flow through her before sending it into the dwarf’s mortal remains. “Then arise, my champion.” She glanced over her shoulder at Koltira’s snort, and shrugged. “What?” she asked innocently. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

 

That was two and a half months ago. 

Since then, more death knights had been raised by the Ebon Blade, with their latest candidate about to be given the choice this very day. Anduin Lothar hadn’t known any of them, had no prior connection with them…but this time, one of his fellow Horsemen did. 

//It’s different when it’s someone you know,// Lothar reminded himself, watching the familiar scene unfold. Khadgar was at his side now, acting as a witness to the ritual that would offer yet another spirit the gift of return. An orc shaman was acting as spirit-speaker, parting the veil between the worlds so the Deathlord could speak with the dead. Durotan stood beside her, taking up most of the space at the ritual’s center. 

The summoned shade appeared, and listened as they spoke to her in her native tongue. Then, after (apparently) agreeing to the resurrection, Arrelon raised her blades, completing the ritual and allowing the female orc to take her first steps in the physical world in decades. 

Durotan embraced the newly-risen death knight fiercely. Then he stepped back, still holding her hand, and gestured to the green-skinned orc who had also been invited to bear witness to the ceremony. “Draka,” he said, in Common this time, the faintest hint of a tremor in his voice. “This is our son...Go’el.”


End file.
